


20 Reasons

by alwaysneverwriting



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-03-06 10:41:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13409529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alwaysneverwriting/pseuds/alwaysneverwriting
Summary: Grantaire has a list of all the reasons why he loves Enjolras, and he really doesn't want Enjolras to find that list.Guess what happens next?





	20 Reasons

**Author's Note:**

> warning: this is the first fic i've ever written, so please go in with that in mind. most of the tagged characters are barely in it, and i fear this got pretty out of character quickly, so i apologize if that's the case. nevertheless, i hope you enjoy, and feel free to leave tips for the future :)
> 
> edited: 11/13/18

Grantaire found beauty in everything. He knew this about himself and prided himself on that fact. He believed it to be a necessary skill for any artist, whether an actor, a painter, or a writer. He found beauty in a dreary winter morning. He found beauty in places as bland as office buildings. He was once so inspired by a broken computer on the side of the street that he had six pages of the defunct piece of technology in his old, battered scrapbook by the next morning.

But, more than anything, Grantaire found beauty in Enjolras.

Enjolras was, simply put, spectacular to Grantaire. He was a treasure trove of positive qualities, and Grantaire had made a list of all his favorite things about him. He never showed Enjolras said list, of course, because that would be weird, but rather kept it hidden in a separate scrapbook that he stored under his bed. The only other thing that was in the scrapbook was a barrage of sketches of all his friends (read: 95% sketches of Enjolras). The only person to have ever seen it was Éponine. She hadn’t said anything about it, just shot him a pitiful look and put it back where she found it.

Grantaire had only told Éponine about his crush on Enjolras, but she was definitely not the only person who knew. Combeferre and Courfeyrac were the first people to find out and often conjured up petty schemes to get Grantaire and Enjolras to acknowledge their feelings, although they never played out. Everyone else in the group knew, to some extent, that Grantaire was interested in Enjolras. What a lot of them didn’t know was that Enjolras was also enthralled by Grantaire.

Grantaire irritated Enjolras to the point of madness sometimes, but he couldn’t help his desire to pull Grantaire to his chest and run his hands through his curly black hair. He adored Grantaire’s art and wished he too could express himself through only colors and brushstrokes.

Grantaire was currently running down the street towards the Cafe Musain, wearing paint-splattered clothes and an old beanie he had hastily thrown on that morning to cover his hair, which also managed to be speckled with paint. He had been so busy with his latest project that he hadn’t shaved in a few days, and the weekly meeting of Les Amis had almost slipped his mind. He was already 15 minutes late. He launched himself through the door to the Cafe, almost slipping on the floor. A silence fell over the room as everyone turned to look at Grantaire, then at Enjolras, then back to Grantaire.

“Sorry I’m late.” Grantaire huffed, trying to catch his breath from all the running. He slid into his usual seat by Bahorel and Combeferre. Enjolras was looking at him with amazement in his eyes, taking in the battered, beautiful Grantaire that sat before him. Unfortunately, Grantaire was too busy searching through his bag for the mock-ups of the posters he wanted to make for the next protest.

Enjolras caught himself staring and changed his expression to a much harsher gaze, clearing his throat.

“I advise you to start taking these meeting seriously, Grantaire. We have no use for people who don’t care about our cause.” He said in a clipped tone. Another hush fell over the group.

“I’m sure there’s a reason he was late, Enjolras.” Courfeyrac spoke up. Grantaire was looking at Enjolras with a tired expression, having already heard this hundreds of times before.

“I do care, Enjolras. Sincerely-” Grantaire started, but he was cut off by a bark of laughter from Enjolras.

“It’s obvious you don’t. Nobody else is constantly late to meetings. You haven’t contributed anything in months, and you’re always arguing with me.” 

“Grantaire does a lot for us-”

“This doesn’t concern you, Joly.”

“I’m sorry I was late, I got caught up with a project I’ve been working on, and I have been contributing! Truly, I was up all last night brainstorming some designs for posters, and-” Grantaire began to ramble, desperate to prove himself. He fumbled for his bag, but his shaking hands interfered and the contents spilled out across the floor. 

Grantaire rushed to scoop up his various books and poster designs. Enjolras’ face softened slightly, ashamed that he made Grantaire upset. Everyone was now looking at Enjolras with angry eyes, and he went slightly red. He knew Grantaire had made a lot of progress since he started attending the meetings, and thought all his poster designs were absolutely brilliant. But, for some awful reason, every time Enjolras opened his mouth to address Grantaire something hurtful came out. 

Grantaire regained his composure and waved the poster designs around in the air.

“See? Quite the contribution if you ask me.” He handed them off to Enjolras with a cheeky grin.

“I suppose so. I’ll look these over and let you know what changes I think are necessary for next week's meeting.” He turned around to place the designs on the table behind him before adding, 

“If you decide to show up.”   
Goddamnit. Enjolras thought, fed up with his lack of a filter.

Grantaire’s smile slipped from his face. He stood up and slung his bag over his shoulder.

“Screw you, Enjolras. I don’t need to put up with this.” He uttered. He held on to his sarcastic tone, but anyone could tell he was pissed. Before Enjolras could respond, Grantaire turned on his heel and walked out the door. Nobody dared to breathe as Enjolras watched the closed door. After a moment, Courfeyrac spoke up.

“Aren’t you ever going to learn?” He said, before grabbing Combeferre’s hand and leaving as well. The meeting was clearly over. One by one, all the other members of Les Amis filed out, saying their goodbyes as usual, but there was still an awkward energy nobody could shake.

As Éponine began to head out she saw an old, battered book lying under one of the benches. Her eyes widened in recognition and she ran over to retrieve it. Enjolras was sorting the papers on the table, eyeing Grantaire’s designs fondly. An idea struck Éponine suddenly, and a sly smile crept onto her face.

“Hey, Enjolras?” She asked, walking up to where he stood. He turned to her inquisitively. Even though they rarely spent time alone, Enjolras had always respected Éponine’s brilliant mind and level-headedness (he had obviously never seen Éponine play cards with Montparnasse).

“Hmm?” He asked, carefully placing the rest of his papers into a red binder before sliding it into his bag.

“Grantaire left this here. It’s pretty important to him, so he’ll want it back as soon as possible. You can drop by his place on your walk back. It’ll give you the chance to talk.” She said with a small smile. Enjolras brows furrowed but he took the sketchbook nonetheless.

“Thanks. I’ll do that.” He said with an unsure smile. Surely Grantaire wouldn’t want to see him after what happened, no matter how important the book was to him. But Enjolras did need to apologize, and he might as well get it over with. 

The walk to Grantaire’s felt excruciatingly short, and before he knew it he was standing in front of the door to his apartment. He fished the scrapbook from his bag and opened it up, curious as to what could be so important to Grantaire that he needed it immediately. He gasped in surprise and awe when he opened to a drawing of Éponine. Grantaire had captured her beauty amazingly well for such a quick sketch. Scattered around the sketch of Éponine were various other friends. Bahorel and Feuilly were laughing together with bottles in their hands. Musichetta and Joly were rolling their eyes at Marius, who, from the drawing, seemed to be going on another one of his rants about the lovely Cosette. Enjolras chuckled softly, then went to turn the page.

On the next page was a drawing of him, addressing the crowd at one of the protests Les Amis had organized recently. He looked almost angelic, with his blonde curls framing his face better than they ever actually do in real life and his blue eyes ablaze with passion. He smiled excitedly. Grantaire never drew him. He had seen his other sketchbook, which was almost completely filled with sketches of Grantaire’s friends, which he often worked on during meetings. There was not one sketch of Enjolras in that entire book. But in this one not only did Grantaire draw Enjolras, but he drew him in color, and it much more detail than usual. And, Enjolras discovered as he flipped through the other pages, he drew him a lot. In fact, most of the scrapbook was of only him. There were sketches of Enjolras sitting, standing, speaking, reading, writing, laughing. Enjolras felt like he couldn’t breathe. The revelation that, yes, Grantaire did think about him outside of meetings and protests was almost too much for his mind to process. Enjolras had long resigned himself to the fact that Grantaire hated him, and he had learned to live with that (kind of). He was about to close the book when he flipped the page one more time. This page contained words rather than drawings, and, scrawled in messy handwriting at the top of the page were the words:

Why I Love Enjolras:

Okay, woah, back up.

Why he what?

Enjolras was pretty sure he was hyperventilating now. He slid down the wall across from Grantaire’s apartment door until he was sitting down on the dingy carpet. He tried his best to steady his breaths, then began to read.

Why I Love Enjolras:

1: He is, quite frankly, the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen in my entire life.  
2: Seriously. He looks like an angel.  
3: He truly believes he can change the world.  
4: I truly believe he WILL change the world.  
5: He’s amazingly passionate.  
6: He’ll give his friends support whenever they need it.  
7: He supports all the right causes.  
8: He’s not afraid of fighting for what he loves.  
9: He is incredibly intelligent.  
10: He reads all the best books.  
11: The way he runs his hands through his hair when he gets stressed.  
12: He will give up his seat on the subway to literally anyone.  
13: Except Combeferre, which makes me love him even more.  
14: He can talk about anything and everything for hours and hours.  
15: He’ll actually try to listen when you disagree with something he says.  
16: Emphasis on ‘try’.   
17: He cares about people so, so much.  
18: He’s actually pretty funny if you give him a chance.  
19: He still puts up with my bullshit even when if I don’t deserve it.

Enjolras feels very close to tears. He couldn’t believe it. All these years of being head-over-heels in love with Grantaire, and Grantaire loved him back. He was elated. He hopped to his feet and began to bang on Grantaire’s door.

“Grantaire! Grantaire, open your goddamn door right now or I swear to God-” He was laughing now, filled with a glee he couldn’t begin to describe. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this happy, banging on the door of Grantaire’s apartment like he was insane. 

Grantaire flung his door open. He was in his pajamas, and he heard the faint sound of the television in the background. He took in the scene before him. Enjolras was smiling like mad, and Grantaire couldn’t imagine why until he looked down to the scrapbook in his hand. Realization dawned on Grantaire’s face.

“Oh, shiiiiittttt.” He said, then snatched the book from Enjolras and chucked it across the apartment.

Enjolras was still reeling when Grantaire spun around and walked over to where Enjolras stood. Grantaire was completely red, from his hairline to where his skin disappeared into his sweater.

“Okay, see ya, Enjolras! Thanks for dropping by, I’ll see you tom-” Enjolras stopped the door being slammed in his face with his foot.

“No, Christ, Grantaire I-”

“Heard it’s supposed to rain, so be sure to bring an umbrella” He kept rambling, trying to kick Enjolras’s foot out of the door frame.

“Taire, I just-”

 

“Good-bye!” He said definitely before giving Enjolras a light shove, forcing him into the hallway. Grantaire was behind the locked door before Enjolras could say anything.

Enjolras didn’t sleep that night. All he could think about was how he was going to fix this. He couldn’t text Grantaire; he knew how awkward he was, but it was much too delicate of a situation to be handled over the phone. He didn’t want to ask any of his friends for help because he wanted to protect Grantaire’s privacy. He probably wouldn’t get to see Grantaire until the next meeting, and Enjolras wasn’t sure if he would even go after everything had happened. By the morning he had made the decision to visit Grantaire’s rented art studio, which was just a short walk from Enjolras’ apartment and where Grantaire tended to hang out most when he was upset. That morning, he took an extra-long shower, shaved, and put more effort into styling his curls then he ever has before (not that it made much of a difference). He put on his favorite sweater and fussed over himself in the mirror for an extra 15 minutes before grabbing his wallet and keys and rushing out the door.

He stopped by the local coffee shop and picked up two espressos before continuing on. Enjolras arrived at the studio all too quickly and took two steadying breaths before walking in.  
Grantaire turns at the sound of the door opening, and when Enjolras sees Grantaire’s face it becomes apparent that Grantaire hasn’t slept either. His eyes are red and there are dark circles underneath them. He still hasn’t shaved, and his stubble is darker than ever. He looks upset but keeps himself composed when he sees Enjolras.

Behind him is a giant canvas. On it, Enjolras recognizes the Cafe Musain. Their friends are on the tables or by the bar, all laughing, drinking, arguing. Enjolras stands in the middle, obviously giving a speech. He looks proud. Grantaire is there too. Enjolras realizes it’s the first time he’s seen a drawing with Grantaire in it. The picture doesn’t do him justice. He’s too short, too stocky, his hair is too unkempt. Enjolras supposes that’s how Grantaire views himself, and it breaks his heart.

“So this is what you’ve been working on that’s been making you late to all the meetings.” He finally says, testing the waters. Grantaire huffs out a small chuckle.

“Uh, yeah. That and the poster designs.” He replies smartly, seeming for the most part like his usual self. Enjolras smiles and hands Grantaire the coffee. He accepts it graciously.

“It’s gorgeous, Grantaire. Really.” He says, but he’s not looking at the painting anymore. He’s looking right at Grantaire.

“Thank you.”

Enjolras hates this. It’s awkward and much too formal.

“What are you doing here, Apollo?” Grantaire asks, looking back at him. He looks anxious, and Enjolras can’t stand the thought that he made him feel that way.

“I’m here to apologize for last night. For both the meeting and what happened afterward.” He replies.

“It’s alright. Don’t worry about it. Let’s just forget the whole night ever happened and things can... get back to normal, I guess.” Grantaire turns back to the painting, picking up a brush and dipping it in the light brown.

“What if I don’t want to forget?” The words are out of his mouth before he can process them. Grantaire stills, afraid to move.

“What do you mean?” He breathes out after a moment of silence. Enjolras clears his throat and takes a breath.

“One. He looks so good when he doesn’t shave.”

If it’s possible, Grantaire stills even more.

“Two. He is so talented sometimes his artwork takes my breath away.”

“What are you doing?”

“Three. He loves his friends so much. Four. He always sings when he gets drunk and has the most beautiful voice. Five. He read Moby Dick in two days. Six. He always keeps me humble. Seven. He stays loyal to his friends even if he’s the most cynical man on earth.”

“Enjolras, stop.”

“Shush, I’m not done. Eight. He’s so gorgeous and he doesn’t even realize it. Nine-”

“Enjolras, just shut up.” Grantaire says as he pulls Enjolras towards him. Enjolras’ brain finally catches up with the situation right as their lips touch, and Enjolras places one hand on Grantaire’s cheek and tangles the other in his dark curls. It amazes Grantaire that two people can still manage to kiss when they’re smiling so much. Grantaire rests his hands on the back of Enjolras’s neck as if trying to pull them even closer. The kiss ends but they keep their foreheads pressed against each other. They’re both out of breath and smiling like crazy.

“Do you really love me because I read Moby Dick in two days?” Grantaire says, looking up at the taller man with a smile that makes Enjolras light up. 

“I’ve honestly never been so impressed in my entire life.” Enjolras teases, and Grantaire lets out a real, genuine laugh.

“I love you, Apollo.” He says as he wraps his arms around Enjolras.

“I love you too. So, so much.” He kisses Grantaire again.

“20. He’s a damn good kisser.” Grantaire murmurs.

Enjolras just laughs, and pulls Grantaire in even closer.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! leave comments, tips, or kudos!


End file.
